Behind the Mask
by IgnisIncendio
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been Obliviated. And he wishes that whoever had done it had just killed him instead. After all, with the entire Wizarding World hating you to the very core, what is the point in living, really? Hermione Granger is one of the people that absolutely despises Draco, but she has so much more to learn about the Draco behind the mask. Post-War Memory-fic M for Language
1. Of Oblivion

**A/N: Hi everyone, this is my first time writing a fanfic, so please go easy on me :)**

**Behind the Mask**

**Epilogue**

**Of Oblivion**

Heavy Breathing. One foot after another. He cursed under his breath.

Thud, thud. Thud.

His heavy footfalls.

He could see the building up ahead. A few more steps.

Thud. Thud.

He could have- should have- Apparated to the entrance, he thought furiously to himself. But oh, Merlin's pants, it had taken him hours after noticing the broken wards to gather enough strength to Apparate out of that hellhole.

Now he wasn't sure if he could make it in, much less Apparate again.

Thud, thud. One step after another.

He looked up and saw the words.

_St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

His breath of relief stopped midway.

Thud. Thud.

That wasn't his footsteps, he realised, frozen in horror.

A silhouette. On the pavement. No more than three metres away.

A foot from the darkness and into the boundary of the lone street light.

Then came with it the body.

Eyes filled with anguish beyond comprehension.

Terror filled him.

Those eyes. That hair. The_ wand_-

Lips that moved.

_'NO! Don't do this, please! PLEASE! I know you're in there! I know-'_

The sweetest, saddest, angriest scream.

Then came oblivion.


	2. Of Hatred

**Chapter One**

**Of Hatred**

Hermione Granger knew she was going to be late.

She hastily grabbed her wand that laid on the bedside table, pulling on a blouse at the same time.

She then glared furiously at her alarm clock, which had broken down some time in the night, hence causing her tardiness. _Of all times_, she thought angrily, _it had to be now_.

After pulling on a pair of comfortable jeans and her lime green Healer robes over it, Hermione rushed out of her room and to the fireplace.

She dug her hand into the bowl of Floo powder, the sand-like material flowing from the gaps between her fingers.

And in a clear, loud voice, she enunciated, 'St. Mungo's!'

As the familiar sensation burned throughout her body, the green flames around her flared for a moment, before dying back down to reveal the crowded lobby of _St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_.

Hermione immediately clambered out of the grate, irritably brushing away the clinging bits of Floo powder from her robes.

Looking around, she saw that the hospital was as busy as ever, with people in normal and Healer robes alike rushing about without a second glance. A group of worried looking Witches clustered at a corner of the reception area, probably waiting for news of a relative or friend.

This came of no surprise to Hermione, for this was the usual scene at St. Mungo's, and even more so with the fact that they were in the aftermath of the second Wizarding War.

People had suffered considerably at the expense of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but even so then they hadn't came to the hospital in fear that they would be captured or worse, killed if they wandered out of their hiding places. So when the war ended, the hospital was not surprisingly swarmed by injured Wizards and Witches. St. Mungo's struggled to provide medical aid to all, and hence desperately called out to all who were capable of healing, needing all the hell they could get.

Predictably, Hermione was first to volunteer, The hospital had almost practically dragged her in, because many Healers had died in the war and God knows they needed someone more than qualified to help.

'Miss Granger! There you are! I've been looking all morning for you!'

Hermione whipped around to meet Mrs. Masons, a jolly and plump Healer who always had a smile on her face. She had lost her husband and only child to the war, but that didn't stop her from lending a help hand to others. she kept a positive outlook on life, and Hermione admired her greatly for it.

'Oh, I'm sorry!' Hermione gasped, looking flustered. 'My alarm clock failed me, so I woke up late-'

'Its alright, dear.' Mrs. Masons said, patting Hermione reassuringly on the shoulder, 'We understand if you come in late, seeing that you are always working well late into the night.'

She handed Hermione her Healer files, and after Hermione flashed her a grateful smile, she walked off into the crowd.

Traipsing to the elevator, Hermione looked at the makeshift sign that hung above the elevator buttons.

**Level 1**- Reception and Treatment of Various Physical Wounds

**Level 2**- Medical Consultation

**Level 3- **Psychological Help and Trauma Ward

**Level 4- **Spell Damage

**Level 5- **Recovery Wards

When the lift door opened, Hermione stepped in and pressed the button to Level 4. Clipping the papers under one arm and grabbing the papers with the other, she absentmindedly looked at the names of her patients of the day.

**Randy Anderson Carle**

Age 46

Male

Description: Brown hair and black eyes

Height: 171 cm

**Description of injuries:**

Fractured shin and shattered kneecap- healed on Level 1, signed Healer Lance on 13th April

Post-War Trauma

Dark Magic- Exidor Pamprosa- causes hot boils and severe swelling at windpipe to near suffocation

**Current ward: L4R41**

Remarks: Slight phobia of needles. Exercise care in case of injections.

Hermione flipped through the rest of the files, her frown deepening at each horrific spell that she only merely looked at the names of the patients.

Barbara H. Wells.

Rosary Minfield.

Thomas Erran Blake.

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Sally B. Darling.

Kenneth Sed-

A strangled yelp escaped Hermione, as she flipped two papers back, blinking as if it would help to erase the name she thought she saw.

And there laid three innocent words at the top of the page.

**Draco Lucius Malfoy**

Age 17

Male

Description: White blonde hair and grey eyes

Height: 177 cm

**Description of injuries:**

Several fractured ribs - Healed on Level 1, signed Healer Maria on 13th April

Spell Damage- Obliviate- Memory loss- referred to Level 2 . To be transferred to Level 3 after being diagnosed proper at Level 4

Torture wounds ( Various open body wounds, burn marks and bruises on upper torso and limbs) Incurable by magic, presumably cast with Dark Magic to prevent magic healing

**Current ward: L4R35**

**To be attended to first- Maria**

Remarks: Mr. Malfoy has lost all former memories. Not dangerous. Yet.

Hermione scanned the profile worriedly, absorbing all information in one sweep of her eyes, only looking up when the elevator opened its doors with a soft "Ding!".

Cursing her luck, Hermione made her way to ward room 35. Her heart stammered beneath her robes, as she nervously placed her hand on the doorknob to room 35.

The last time she saw Malfoy was in Sixth Year, when he had gotten Dumbledore killed and then disappeared to Heavens knew where. He had been thin and unhealthily then, probably due to the constant scheming and planning of Dumbledore's murder.

Hermione grimaced at this, remembering how particularly closed off Malfoy had been that year, his scowl a permanent feature of his face.

'Miss Granger?' A voice from behind asked. 'Are you alright?'

Jumping, Hermione saw that Healer Grace was looking at her rather concernly. With a start, she realised she must have looked strange, with her barely combed bed hair sticking in all directions, a distant, worried look on her face, and clutching to a doorknob like her life depended on it.

'Oh.' Hermione gasped, blushing madly, 'I'm fine. Just thinking, is all.'

Healer Grace nodded unsurely, smiled a tentative smile and walked off down the corridor.

Hermione took a deep breath, steeling herself, prepared to hex Malfoy to submission if it came down to it.

She opened the door and stepped in.

Like all other wards, this one was no different. The curtains were a bright cheery yellow, and the walls were painted a light blue. The light above was dimmed and at the center of it all stood a large hospital bed, where a certain sat at the edge of, a carefully blank look on his face.

Hermione cleared her throat.

Startled, Draco Malfoy turned to look at her.

He looked remarkably unchanged, except that the constant sneer was ominously absent from his face. The long sleeved hospital shirt and pants hung loosely around his frame, his barefooted feet just reaching the floor. His grey eyes, once haughty, looked lifeless and he was, if possible, paler than before.

Hermione waited for the spark of recognition in his eyes and the evitable rant about Mudbloods and their dirty filthy blood, but it never came. Instead, Draco Malfoy stared at her blankly.

'Hello. I am Hermione Granger,' said Hermione, hesitating slightly, 'Do you remember me?'

At this, the familiar shape of a scowl formed on Malfoy's lips. 'I was Obliviated, wasn't I? What makes you think I would remember you, if I can't even remember my own name?'

Hermione felt a flush of relief when she saw the scowl. An annoyed looking Draco Malfoy she could handle, and it was better than a lifeless looking one.

Suddenly, Malfoy's words registered in her head.

'You don't remember your name?' asked Hermione, bewildered, as she put her things down on a table. 'What do you even remember?'

Malfoy grimaced at this, his grey eyes losing its glint of anger, and returning to its dead look. 'Pain,' he answered, 'Guilt. Feeling betrayed. More pain. But I don't remember why.'

Hermione was considerably surprised at this. She had never known Malfoy was capable of feeling emotions, much less _pain_. Or feelings of betrayal. Really, what would cause him to feel that? He was a Death Eater! He caused hundreds to suffer more to experience pain!

Malfoy's expressionless face darkened.

'You don't believe me,' he continued, 'That's fine. Nobody here does. They all look at me like I'm a m-m-'

He swallowed, his body growing rigid.

'Like I'm a _monster_,' he finished.

At this, anger rose up inside Hermione.

'Well, you are!' she snapped, an unquenchable heat burning in her chest. 'You tortured and killed people! You laughed at us _Mudbloods_ and let us die one after another like flies! Tell me, is that not considered a monster to you? Because to me, you are a hell of one!'

Her arm tingled, and memories came flooding back. The last time she saw Malfoy wasn't in Sixth Year. It was at the Manor, where Bellatrix had tortured her and Draco Malfoy had done nothing. He did nothing but watch her. She had screamed and begged through her tears for him to help, but he had done nothing.

She understood why she didn't think of it before. The experience had been beyond traumatic and humiliating, and Hermione had sworn to herself never to think of it again.

But looking at Malfoy's self-pitying pointy face made her so _angry_ that her mind had brought back all the memories.

Roughly pulling up her sleeves, she shoved her arm into Malfoy's face, the words white against her skin. 'There,' she declared, 'I'm a mudblood. Your aunt did this to me, did you know? And you stood there and watched me. Isn't that enough evidence? That you're a monster?'

Eyes blazing, she glared at the wide-eyed Draco Malfoy, ignoring the hurt that was flashing in his steel-coloured eyes.

'I hate you,' she choked out, 'So much.'

Hermione then turned, grabbing the papers as she went, slamming the door loudly behind her.


End file.
